


Ruined

by Lillielle



Category: Alice: Madness Returns, American McGee's Alice
Genre: Angst, Coercion, F/M, Mind Control, Mind fuckery, Wonderland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 15:02:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillielle/pseuds/Lillielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: I do not own anything from A:MR or AMA.</p><p>A/U. Alice's Wonderland belongs entirely to Dr. Bumby now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruined

**Author's Note:**

> Poem taken from Alice: Madness Returns.

He plays me like a harpsichord, his fingers plucking my strings with well-practiced ease until I shudder and lay supine beneath him, passive as he empties himself into me. His eyes burn into my face like acid, and his grin is the last thing I see as I surrender to the darkness eating away my conscious thought.

It has been a long time with Dr. Bumby, with the Dollmaker. I cascade between London and Wonderland in a never-ending series of moving pictures. Here, the Cheshire Cat looming out of the darkness, his teeth snapping at my face, stained with old, venomous blood. There, Dr. Bumby guiding me to the kitchen for a proper breakfast, his hand hot and insistent at the small of my back.

My mind's gone. I know it and he knows it, and it pleases him to know it. I have forgotten, and there is no way to get it back. The Infernal Train has taken over Wonderland. Oh, there are a few isolated pools of tranquility here and there. Places the Ruin has not corrupted. But these places are few and far between. And in the meantime, the Dollmaker's domain grows every larger, its strings knotting into the fabric of my soul.

I can't point to a clear-cut point my mind decided to snap in two. I fought, you can be sure of that. How can you face the inevitable? How can you stop a monster? Dr. Bumby wears a kind face, a physician's countenance, but I know him for what he is, ruin dripping from his mouth, his fingertips. His soul is dark and rotten.

He murdered my family, did you know that? Oh, yes. Because he wanted Lizzie and she spurned him. So he raped her. Raped her and set the house ablaze to cover his tracks. I know-- _that_  of all things I still remember. But who would believe a mad girl under a doctor's care? I can say nothing. The one time I tried, the woman just shook her head and clucked and said what a shame it must be, to be so bloody mad, you can't even conceive of your doctor being anything but a devil. 

That's the point, madam. He is. And he always will be.

And yet, to an extent, I've grown to love him. It is a sick, twisted sort of love, to be sure. I have grown to love the way he guides me so patiently to breakfast and dinner (lunch is at Matron's whim). The way he brushes my hair for me when I step out of the bath, wrapping me in a thick, warm towel before settling down to the task. The smile in his eyes when I accomplish some new feat, something I have lost the wherewithal to accomplish. The way his fingers pump inside me before he spreads my legs and devours me.

He is eating me alive, mind, body, and soul, and I can't stop him anymore. My Wonderland is shattered into pieces and there is no getting it back. Not this time. I weep for it sometimes, when he leaves me all alone, and I can let the tears slide down my face, let them drip heavy and warm into the freshly washed fabric of my collar. If anybody questions my tears, I merely smile and nod in that blank sort of way, like a doll, and let them assume what they will. Let them think I miss Bumby. Maybe in some twisted sort of way, it's the truth.

In my nightmares, the Cheshire Cat guides me to the Jabberwock's bones, to pull free the Vorpal Blade over and over with a rough skirling song of blade across bone. The edge is always razor-sharp, burning my flesh and leaving a raw welt of blood. Sweet and coppery in my mouth, it always fades when I wake up, and I curse it bitterly. I want to remember, but I've already forgotten, and it's far too late for this Alice.

The Red Queen still lives on, of course. She is choked in her own fucking tentacles, her voice grown raspy and hoarse, but oh, that damnable creature still lingers. Off with her head! she wheezes, her baleful eyes pinning me in place, until I can scarcely breathe, and I stand there, waiting, waiting for her guards to come, to carry out the final blow.

But of course, nothing happens, and I open my eyes and am once again in Dr. Bumby's lap or Dr. Bumby's office or Dr. Bumby's bed, waiting dutifully for him to finish his duties and attend to me. Play with your doll, Doctor, I sometimes murmur, my hips bumping against his in a childish sway, my bottom lip sulking and heavy. Come play with your little doll, with your good girl, I'll be your dolly forever...

And he always smiles and he always laughs, and he takes me by the hand. And I follow him with a skip and a laugh into the darkness, into the monster's lair itself, my boots tripping across the worn, dusty floorboards.  _There_ my boots will be lined up by his, and  _there_ my clothing will be piled neatly upon a chair. And  _here_ is the good Doctor with his mouth so hot and wet against mine, with his hands possessing my body, with his eyes burning into my soul. And here the Dollmaker pulls his strings and I dance to his tune now and always, managing to ignore, just barely, the heaps of discarded broken dolls that litter the floor, that stare at me with their accusing blank eyes. _  
_

It's all right, nothing happened, Alice, the good Doctor whispers in my ears. Go to Wonderland, Alice. And I hum to myself, dreamily whisper, _The train is coming with its shiny cars, with comfy seats and wheels of stars, so hush little ones have no fear, the man in the moon is the engineer._ But the train has come and passed, has it not, and it left only Ruin in its wake.

But it is all right, as long as I have Dr. Bumby, as long as I have myself, although I greatly fear I have lost my much-ness. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore as I fall, I always fall.

And the broken remnants of Wonderland always catch me.


End file.
